WASHINGTON, D.C. – Last weekend, Washingtonians welcomed visitors from around the world to kick off the annual Cherry Blossom Festival – the symbolic beginning of spring on the Potomac. This time every year the capitol is delivered from winter, as trees around the Tidal Basin are suddenly spackled with dainty pink flowers. Young and old come annually to bask in the sun and inaugurate the new beginning, as the flora emerge from the winter doldrums and the young hearts of fauna awaken to summer’s endless possibilities. Hope is in the air.
This year’s festival kickoff on Saturday was notable for an incessantly strong wind, like an omnipresent bully shoving you, hard, for hours on end.
And yet they came in droves. Organizers expected especially high numbers this year, with people in search of cost-free diversions in a season of fiscal belt-tightening. It seemed, to your humble correspondent, a most heart-warming protest.
A troop of Boy Scouts sat under the pink trees in the shadow of the Capitol building and learned about their government. Kite-flyers took full advantage of the squall on the mall. More languages were represented than I could count.
This festival is different from others, in that there are few vendors and the actual goings-on are a side-show to the main event. People come to the Cherry Blossom Festival, ultimately, because we agree, as a people, that on this day in April we will gather in the park to play in the sun and look at flowers together.
Amid two stubborn wars and an economic crisis of generational proportions, Americans and earthlings from far and wide still found cause to celebrate. It was as if, in one gentle pink voice, we said, “Governments, you can keep your crisis, thank you. Do what we pay you for, and don’t expect us to consume our way out of this mess you created. We’ll be at the park, enjoying the company of one another and the sway of the flowers in the breeze – both of which, mind you, are free.”
WASHINGTON, DC – It was a dismal Wednesday in Washington. The city was drenched in the sort of drizzle that feels like the bottom of a cloud and makes the district’s brightly colored row houses seem as grey as the sky.
Washingtonians turned over their hard-earned treasure to Uncle Sam on this gloomy tax day. And some joined groups across America in the unfortunately named “teabag” movement, using the symbolism of tax day to protest record-breaking government spending.
Like the weather, the protests in D.C. were dampened. Their teabags as soggy as the grass, the underwhelming crowd was dispersed early by the Secret Service after one protestor mistook the White House lawn for Boston Harbor and hurled a box of tea over the fence, initiating a post 9-11 style bomb scare. Initial plans to dump tea in Lafayette Park, also not Boston Harbor, were thwarted for want of a permit.
Outside the beltway, similar protests apparently went better. “Tea Parties” around the country, including one particularly well-attended event in Tulsa, drew thousands to the streets.
Parallels to the revolutionary gentry of 1773 are strained at best. Just six months out of an election, this is certainly taxation with representation.
Establishment politicians have already co-opted the movement, Republicans clinging to any groundswell that might propel them out of the political wilderness.
Yet the teabaggers retain a certain independence. Politicians still feel like half-welcome visitors. RNC Chairman Michael Steele was denied outright in his request to speak at one event.
Could this be a nascent third party?
Will citizens of the future be voting Tea?
One hopes for tall glass of ice and a healthy serving of sugar if the Tea Party is featured on any future political menus. Our politics is already burdened by fiery rhetoric and smoldering anger. It couldn’t hurt to inject a little sweetness into the mix.
